The original, 17-page short story version of

"MESSIAH TO SUPER-HUMAN"

The original draft was written on a mechanical typewriter, with no right
margin. All spellings, punctuation, capitalizations, etc. are as in the
original.

You have been warned.

He'd always respected the Messiah of 1943, which was what he was called. The
Messiah was one of the most powerful persons on earth; yet he had no high
political position, and had physical strength equal to that of a house pet. All
of his strength came from the sheer force of his mind. Yes, he was what you
might call a psychic — but the strongest ever known.

Back during world war II, he was a prisoner of the nazis in one of their
concentration camps. With the power of his mind, he was able to defeat
the SS guards, and destroy all the attacking enemy troups and luftwaffes which
had been called out to stop him.

After the war was over, the admirer of him (who this story is about) was taught
his secrets. Even though he knew these, he wasn't mentally powerful — you
learn by doing, and he didn't — couldn't — do.

The messiah died of overexertion in the early seventies. He had been close to
death several times because of this; but that was his last. The name of the
eager-to-learn, not-so-eager-to-do person (this story's "hero") was John
Reekor. He had one of the lowest social levels known to man. All through his
life, he was the goat — in everything he did. Whether it be doing
physical work, or existing in a secondary school at the age of 12-18, everyone
hated him. Except the messiah. The messiah was the only person who understood
him, and taught him enough to change for the better. And while the Messiah was
around, no one dared attack John.

But now, he felt helpless. Anything he did was sure to get him into trouble. He
knew barely enough to stop him from getting beat up by the weakest of humans.
He wanted vengeance — on the whole world.

The Messiah had told him about the workings of the human mind, and how each
mind contains isolated, dormant parts. In fact, a normal human brain has only
6% working at any given time — six percent! The rest of the mind remains
dormant; unused. That's why the Messiah was so powerful; all 100% of his mind
was being used. He couldn't help it — he was born that way.

John had to find a way to link up the unused 94%. He glanced down at the
copy of the Messiah's will he had. It read, "I, _______, do hereby leave all my
worldly posession(s) to John Reekor".

But what would a Messiah have? All he had to do was think of doing
something, and it was done. No special devices — nothing needed. Well, he
must have had something, or else he wouldn't have bothered to
write that will! In any case, John needed all he could get.

That day, he decided to see the Messiah's lawyer (not that he needed one). The
lawyer examined the will, looked at the items the Messiah had left, and
exclaimed, "He had a few dollars to cover the inheritance tak, but besides
that, all he could leave you was this...."

He reached into his desk, and pulled out a small belt with two metal arms
attached, and attached to those were two aluminum handles. The arms were
hollowed and stainless steel, and there seemed to be a note attached to the
whole works, hand-written. "Well," said the lawyer, "That's it. Enjoy your
inheritance!"

With that, John left the lawyer's office, and went to his home.

That night, he read the attached note.:

"By the time you read this note, I'll have died — of what, I don't know
yet — I was never good at clairvoyance. Anyway, John, this is what I used
when my powers were just being discovered. It's called an electronic mentality
connector. Remember the old 6% theory? Well, this device is designed to
electrically 'hook up' the other 94% for use while the user is holding on to
the aluminum handles. Requires AC hookup, or two 12-volt batteries (not
included). Remember what you've learned, and use this as you deem necessary.
Good luck...."

He put on the belt, along with the arms, and plugged the whole thing into the
nearest wall outlet. Afterwhich, he did what the note said to do, grabbed the
left handle, and lightly touched the right. What he felt was an electrical
shock. He moved both hands away quite rapidly.

What the hell was the Messiah trying to pull on him!?? He said that this was
what he had used to start off his psychic powers! Ah ... but he also
said this linked up to the mind electrically! Anyway, that electrical
stack did feel a little ... er ... different; John had experienced
typical electrical shock before, but this ratio of volts and amps seemed to
ignore his body completely, and shoot straight for his brain.

He grabbed both handles again. The electricity seemed to flow smoothly through
his mind — electroshock therapy it wasn't. True, his body was vibrating
from the electrical flow, but not dangerously; all it made him do was vibrate
his jaws, using his voice. Now what? Ah, yes! Get back to the Messiah's
form of concentration.

John closed his eyes and concentrated on nothing in particular, except the room
around him. For a long time, nothing. Then, suddenly, when he was concentrating
on nothing but the room around him, he saw something he could never have
seen with his eyes — a perfect, 360° view of the room area —
all at once!!

He opened his eyes with a cry of success. As he let go of the handles he knew
he had taken the first step toward the Messiah's powers.

Now all he had to do was get more practice at this kind of thing. But
where do you find a "European Mind Spa"?? Well, you don't. The only way
he was going to get good at this was to practice on his own.

The next day, he set out to do just this. He started with blindly walking into
unknown palces, and seeing if he could identify them, while holding the 2
handles. Next he tried reading the minds of strangers (he couldn't read the
minds of his friends because he had none), which took him a good number of days
to perfect. Finally, the next week, he began practicing the heavier mental
arts.

He began with some light telekinesis. The first thing he concentrated on was an
upright domino, which he wished to make fall over. He grasped the handles, and
with his eyes open, concentrated on nothing but the domino falling over. Within
a few seconds, the domino began to creek from side to side, and fall in the
direction he had intended it to. Now what? Of course — put the domino
back upright! When he concentrated, it did more than he'd expected it to; it
lifted a few inches off the table it was resting, turned 90° in midair, and
set itself down on its intended side.

Before long, he was not only levitating massive objects, but controlling their
movement via his eyes, and sometimes even without the use of his optical ports.
It was possible, though hardly necessary, that he could levitate his own body
weight for a medium-short length of time.

Finally, when the mental motion was polished to near perfection, he started to
actually change other people's thoughts. He wasn't really interested in this
until he was mugged in an alley. He learned the new art very quickly, as within
a number of seconds, the mugger fled with a look of insanity on his face. After
this, he was able to shoot any thought into anyone's head that he desired.

He had finally mastered all the mental arts, except two — sustained
levitation (flight), and killing by thought. Flight came within about a month
when he was over-joyed for the first time; death by thought came a little
earlier when he saw a dying woman in the hospital. She was in excruciating
pain, and desperately wanted to be mercy killed. John simply grabbed the
handles and brough a death wish down on her. She died instantly and painlessly.

Now he was ready to go out into the world and really use his power. His
first stop was getting a promotion on his job that payed less than the minimum
wage. He stormed through the building, and went to see his boss.

"Get out of here!," he yelled before John had a chance to say anything. "I hate
your guts, just like everyone else!!"

John was certainly not going to despair now. He grabbed the handles,
concentrated, and suddenly gained a charisma that was possible only in a true
super-human.

"You're promoted to vice president!," his boss announced. "President? ANYTHING
— just so you're still working for us!!!"

"Well," John decided, "I've always wanted to be head of the company, and I
think the job is perfect for me."

Within a few hours, John was indeed the company's president. Whenever someone
came to him with a problem, he would grab the handles, gain supercharisma
again, and do whatever was necessary, usually verbally.

By the end of the day, he would've probably achieved the world record for
fastest and sharpest promotion. Now, he had to improve his social life.

You guessed it — in no time at all, he had his first female friend (and I
don't mean buddy!). That night, he went home with a feeling that he'd change
the world — someday.

The next day was a Saturday, but he wasn't going to stop doing his thing. He
laid his bank book down in front of himself, grabbed the handles, and attempted
to rearrange the numbering to amount to more money. He quickly banished the
thought. "That's dishonest!", he told himself as he released the handles. "I
vowed to myself when I was three never to do that!!!"

Nevertheless, his paycheck had just arrived in the mail (with a considerably
larger amount than usual), so he decided to go to the bank and deposit it, in
addition to opening a checking account with credit cards, since all company
presidents need one of those.

There was no point in walking to the bank or taking the bus, because new John
had the power to fly there. On his way there, he flew with increasing speed,
until he was flying faster than he'd ever flown before. He took little or no
notice of the staring crowd watching him as he flew past them at over forty
miles per hour.

Within a few short moments, John was in the bank, waiting in line. No sooner
had he advanced one place, when a bunch of amateurish hoods entered, armed with
M-16's, yelling, "Hansh up, ev'rybuddy! An' dun't moov!!"

John knew what he had to do. He grabbed the handles, and concentrated on the
metal in their guns. One became unbearably hot to the touch almost instantly, a
second took a little longer, but the third got no hotter than considerably
warm. The one who still held a gun saw his chance, aimed, and fired at John.
Fortunately, John was proficient at short-range clairvoyance, so he had
just enough time to set up a strong mental shield around himself for a brief
instant — strong enough and timed so accurately that not one of the seven
shots fired hit himself.

John wanted to take no more risks; that mental shield took too much
concentration and lasted only a split second. He had to get out of there the
fastest way possible, and flying was much too slow. While still holding the
conductive handles, he concentrated with open eyes on just getting out of there
— instantaneously. Soon, very soon, a glowing
rainbow-colored aura radiated from around him, and he was instantly teleported
into the safety of his home.

He had just acquired a new power! And when he needed it!!

Life was beginning to get boring for John. Being on top can get that way
sometimes. It was the same routine every day: get up, recharge device, pick up
a few dozen more girlfriends, do practically nothing all day at work,
then come home at night for a little you-know-what. He wanted more zest out of
life, and he didn't want to change to a new cinnamon mouthwash!

After about two weeks of this kind of idiocy later, he decided to try to catch
those bank robbers he'd let get away before. He grabbed the aluminum handles,
and concentrated on their images. Before you could say, "Dsqnplbntz," he had
teleported into their hideout.

The "bad guys" took no time in discovering that he'd come into their place.
They all knew him, but one knew him better than John would have liked. The
particular thug grabbed an M-16, and fired at John's power belt. The belt and
handles were instantly shredded beyond repair.

John knew he was as good as dead. His only source of superpower had just been
destroyed. Or was it his only source?? He quickly remembered what the
messiah's note had said — "This is what I used to start my powers"
(or words to that effect). Could that device, after its only month of service,
have connected his mind so that he could get all 100% in use even
without the electrical current?? It was worth a try....

He gazed at the thug who was holding the gun, then down at the human
death-dealing device, and concentrated on the thug's mental impulses. In only a
matter of seconds, he had dropped the gun, and was too paralyzed to retrieve
it! Now, John had to get the gun himself, without moving. He looked down
at the gun, and blotted out all images of the world around himself, thinking
only of, "Up, up!".

Suddenly, as if by a jerk of mental force, the gun lept inot the air, and
stayed there. No time to marvel over this now — Jodn had to get
the gun to himself. Again, he blocked out all images of the outside world, with
the exception of the floating gun. And again, the gun lurched forward and came
to rest in the hands of John. John snapped out of that semi-conscious mode of
operation most quickly, positioned the gun in an aiming fashion, and yelled,
"Nobody move!!!"

Pointing his gun (and his mind) at the three thugs, he soon had them following
his every command including dragging them off to the police station.

They were easily and quickly identified by the bank tellers down at the police
station who'd come there, and arrested. For the first time in his life, John
had become a semi-well-known hero — and only two months ago he was
considered lower than a curbstone!!! The only thing about his heroism that was
that he used a false name, and didn't allow any pictures. Strange? You'll soon
see why....

John was now what you might call a "super-hero", that is he was superhuman in
addition to his support of the powers of "good". His true identity was, "John
Reekor" — his real name. But his identity as one of the world's strongest
superheroes was: "Psychoman"!!!

The new defender of "justice" had only one power that he was capable of WITH
the former powerbelt, but not without — the power of instant
teleportation. It seemed that the electrical energy produced by the "belt" was
actually being used more than to connect his brain, but it actually warp and
deterr the air and space around him; this was only detectable by the fact that
John felt the energy actually travelling outside his body upon his mental
command.

John had quickly made a super-hero outfit (they all do), and tried to put his
name up there with Superman, Ultraman Inframan, and Wonder woman (?).
Unfortunately, the nation had good national defense, and super-heroes weren't
in demand. Now, where could you find a lot of crime to destroy?

Of course! Las Vegas! The crime capital of the U.S.!! With this in mind,
Psychoman quickly donned his costume, concentrated for a few seconds, and
quickly took to the sky.

He flew faster than he even did to the bank that one fine day he learned to
teleport. As he was flying so low, very many people saw him, but few understood
the bright yellow "PM" on his chest. Through the streets of Los Angeles he sped
— faster than a speeding ticket, more powerful than a loco weed, able to
leap tall curbstones in a shingle bound — look, up in the sky! It's a
bird — it's a plain — it's ... it's a bird! Yecch!

Within a large number of minutes (somewhere around forty of them), Psychoman
had arrived in downtown Las Vega$. All he could see was havock everywhere:
Prostitutes, rip-off casinos, prostitutes, Mafia members, prostitutes, a
sprinkling of crime here and there, and prostitutes. The prestitutes, casinos,
and mafians were okay, but everything else had to go. The first objective was
a distant scream, occurring about a mile away from Psychoman. He wasted no time
in zipping over to the scream's origin, and found himself before door #6 of a
motel. The screams were shrill and womanish, and Psychoman knew it had to be
one of three things: rape, murder, or a broken fingernail.

He looked at the door, and pulverized it with a quick wave of mental force. He
was sort-of relieved to find that it was not a broken nail, but his
first impression of rape. The attacker (a twenty-two year-old horny woman)
immediately released her recipient (a fifty-five year-old woman), and
dove for John.

She never lived to reach him. John had never been exposed to this sort
of live action, and panicked. The old woman was too grateful at the moment to
feel the emptiness of the young woman's death.

It turned out, to Psychoman's advantage, that the old woman was herself a
witch, and had recently seen a vision of a gigantic cube of a geometric
perfection never physically achieved, and death and doom attached with this
vision. It could only mean one thing: stay away from sugar cubes! For that
matter, avoid any conspicuous-looking cubes roaming the streets! Anyway,
John had more important matters to deal with at that time, such as deadly
double-parking, and terrible trespassing.

After two days of towing cars away from distances of over one mile, turning in
bank robbers, exposing the mafia, converting Russia to capitalism, abolishing
the arabs, and other petty things like that, John was ready for some heavy
stuff from out-of-this-world. At that time, he didn't know how close the
opportunity would be....

On January 36, 19??, John decided to visit a radio and radar observatory. They
were monitoring the 14½ moons of Jupiter, and the 10 moons of Saturn,
and some distances beyond. Suddenly, John felt a surge of uneasiness about
those radar bleeps. Somewhere, out there in that field of constantly changing
blips was something undetectable by primitive devices such as light or radar.
And that something, as he had already heard meant death and doom.

He quickly located the approximate location of the something mentally, went
outside, concentrated for a few seconds on doing something he'd never done
before — using his mind to overcome "breathing", and took to the sky.
Within a few minutes (it took him that long to adjust to both zero-gravity and
zero-atmosphere), he was off from Earth's orbit, heading toward the stars, and
that horrid cubic doom.

After about two entire hours of useless searching, he had found nothing.
Strange ... by this time, that hurling mass should be just outside the orbit of
Mars; yet John could see nothing!

Hold it! If it gave no radar reflection, thet it's completely idiotic to assume
it gave any light reflection in the visible spectrum! For just this
reason, John immediately set to locating it not by light reflection in the
ordinary fashion, but by examining the X-ray content of all areas which is high
in all presences of matter and energy. And if there were no X-rays ... then
mental-physical aura energy would suffice.

Suddenly, he obtained a bright mental flash of some medium-small object, about
the size of a high school, crossing over the orbit of Mars. This was exactly
what he'd been looking for. He turned on the concentration, and was off to the
destination of that horrid, cubic who-knows-what.

Within an hour of head-long travel, it came within reach of John's "sight"
— or within some hundred meters, if you prefer. Since there was no way it
could reflect light, it had no color, and John could only identify it by the
outlines it gave to his mind. Yes, it was a perfect cube, about half a
kilometer on a side. It was traveling at over 2000 miles per second, and John
was staring at it in such awe that it completely passed by him before he had a
chance to react.

John had a good idea of what he had to do. No matter how powerful any material
object was, it was no match for the infinite (or nearly so) power of the mind.
He gazed at it intently, nearly forgetting that he was in a high-temperature
vacuum. Slowly, with all John's available mental force, the cube began to slow
its rapid pace toward his home plan-ette (planet) (in case you've forgotten, he
comes from Earth). At first, it was almost undetectable, since John was not
concerned with detecting at that time. Then, more rapidly, it ground to a halt.

Suddenly, as if by will of life, for a computer would never have chosen such an
illogical and unworkable idea, the cube exploded with a meek force of resistant
energy to try to keep it at a halt. The strange thing was that the
explosion completely surrounded the cube, was itself sort-of cubical, and was
completely VISIBLE!

Then slowly, as the explosion terminated, the cubic mass inched toward John.
Unlike its normal mode of travel, which was a twisting and turning pattern, the
locomotion it showed toward John was steady and straight.

John had never had enough time to actually "see" this thing from a close range.
It was ominous, even though it was only some 500 meters on an edge, the only
visible (mentally) parts. It now covered the entire view from his front, and
additionally blocked out the stars. It was then that it dawned on him;
this thing was totally black — it was energy absorbent, not
reflectant!

Suddenly the world around John filled with bright light of all spectral wave
lengths. He quickly shut his eyes tightly, and tried mentally to view the world
around him with a much less intense light. In his eyes, there was shining
glare, but in his mind was absolute blackness.

Could it be that Psychoman had just lost his Psycho? No — this absolute
blackness was much blacker than the darkest night on Earth. It was more than
his power was non-existent; it was as if HE was non-existent!

Slowly, the infinite light around John receded, and he found himself in a
small, metallic room. Naturally, his first instinct was to take a look around.
There was nothing remarkably unusual about this room — until John looked
behind himself. What he saw there was astonishing. It was a long cylinder
protruding out of the wall into nearly the room's center, where John was
standing. Looking domn the length of the shaft, it was sceened by a webbing
attached to six rods, and through it, John couldn't see the end — it
seemed to go on forever into darkness. Even mentally, John couldn't locate the
other end.

It suddenly became clear that the strange object was what had teleported him
into that odd room. The only other identifyable item in the room was apparently
a sliding door.

It suddenly became apparent that it was a sliding door when it slid
open. What was most astounding about this place (which was obviously part of
the "doom cube") was revealed at that moment; its inhabitents were right behind
that sliding door.

They seemed more like spirits than beings, although they must have been lesser
spirits, since they had to use doors. Unfortunately, they were soon discovered
by John to be harmful — they attacked him.

The attack came from the one on the left (out of the two present). It was a
whiplike attack, aimed mostly for his brain, but partially for his body, also.
Though it was not visible to John's eyes, he could see it on the eyes of his
mind; even though it was not spectacular in any sense — dull gray —
its effects were staggering.

The crack nearly knocked John unconscious, which was probably what it was
intended for. John had never experimented with an attack made such as this, but
there's always a first time for everything. Before he could try to give the
beings a dose of their own medicine, however, the second spirit did the same as
the first had done, but John was ready for it this time, and it did minimal
harm.

Now John was ready to try this new idea. He concentrated on the one on the
left, and let the attack loose. It wasn't as good as the attacks from the
spirits, instead of being short and whiplike, it was slow and blunt like a
club, and all it managed to do was plaster one of "THEM" to a wall. The second
time, it was much more accurate and effective: it succeeded in paralyzing one
of them for a good amount of time.

This was all he needed to escape — both of his adversaries temporarily
incapacitated. Suddenly, he realized that he was still mentally
breathing. He took a deep breath of the air in the cube. There wasn't any. He
had to continue using his mental force until he found some air.

He lept into the air, and let his powerful mind carry him along on its swift
current. He was able to pull only some 65 mph out of his flight, as the power
to keep breathing took a lot of his concentration.

After some forty seconds of flight, John came upon another sliding door. Since
he didn't want to waste time FORCE-ing it open, he extended his hands with his
palms forward, and summoned jets of heat from his hands. As soon as the heat
penetrated the doorlike obstacle, a gust of wind hit John square on his front,
and the heat jets seemed to ignite slightly in the newly acquired atmosphere.
John inhaled the air around him. It was pure oxygen, at one-fifth atmosphere
pressire (3 psi).

Though this phenomenon puzzled John for an instant, at least it gave him a
chance to breathe unaided. The instant he came through the door, not two, but
five spirits attacked him. Since John wasn't ready to handle such an
attack, he backed off back through the former door.

How strange — the spirits didn't advance once he stepped back! He
wasn't about to reason with this now — he had to stop this cube. He put
out his hands in the same fanlike fasion as he did for frying open the door,
and sent the same jets of heat at the spirits he did before, although they
looked more like flames with the atmosphere.

The heat passed through the spirits as if they didn't exist; it had no effect
whatsoever. It was obvious that these spirits (or whatever they were) could
only be affected by pure mental attacks, such as the whiplike mental "stab".

Boldly, John jumped back across the doorway. Instead of trying to defeat these
guys, John was simply going to ignore them altogether. Before any of them could
make a move, John took to the "air", and sped down the hallway at a frightening
pace, reaching over a hundred miles per hour before — one of the mental
whips got him!

When he awoke, he found himself in a cubical room, some ten feet on a side. Why
had they not simply killed him while they had the chance? Whatever they had
done with him, and wherever they had put him, he knew he had to escape —
not only to stop the cube, but to find the reason for its existence. He
put his hands out in familiar fanlike fasion for the third time, and shot out
some jets of heat and flame. Not only did the walls not melt, but they showed
no effect from the heat! These walls must be adamantine!!

Suddenly, John heard a loud whoosh, followed by absolute silence. He took a
deep breath. There wasn't any breath to breathe. He resumed his mental
breathing almost instantly, for otherwise he would have lost consciousness
within fifteen to thirty seconds. It was then he realized the remarkable
attribute of this room. It was a perfect cube, containing nothing but himself.
No doors, no windows — not even a fancy cylinder like the first room he
was placed in!

Suddenly, the most horrifying aspect of this room came into play — the
six walls were shrinking! On Earth, some whacky mad scientist would have had
one or two opposite walls come together, but here all six were closing in! John
knew he couldn't escape — ah, but he could push the walls back out
from whence they came! He closed his eyes, and began concentrating on the
enclosing surfaces around him. Then he realized, with growing horror, that none
of his forces would in any way effect this wall. It was as if a hundred minds,
each as powerful as his own, were pushing these walls in whith whatever
strength he applied.

Suddenly it dawned on him: the only way out was by teleportation. But
how was he going to get the necessary electrical current inside a
closing cube? Oh, you idiot — you're a psychic — make the
electrical energy yourself!!!

He extended his hands, but this time with his fingers forward, pointing to an
oblique point in the rapidly shrinking cube. Almost instantly, the point turned
into a spark, then an arc, and finally a growing ball of ball lightning. Now,
the rume was less than four feet on a side, and John had to crouch down to
enter the sizzling ball. Again, as if reliving his earlier experiences, he felt
the energy running through his body and up to his brain. He quickly closed his
eyes, and concentrated on getting out of there — it didn't matter
where; just out!

Suddenly, as he felt his bodily molecules begin to vibrate, he was pulled away
from the physical state of existence, and not so much by mere chance, was put
down in a gigantic ampitheater.

Behind him was a large audience of spirits, and in front of him was a
thirty-foot tall stone(d) statue of the Messiah of 1943. He stood there,
looking at the statue in utter awe and disbelief. The Messiah! What the ----
was a statue of the Messiah doing here?!? He was still inside the
cube!!!

There was air in this place, yet now it seemed as though John simply
didn't need it. All-of-a-sudden, a soundless, blue column of light reached from
the heavens (or the ceiling), stretching all the way to the floor at the
statue's feet. That instant, the statue and the shaft were there — the
next, they were completely non-existent, again with no sound whatsoever. In its
place were a couple of semi-material sliding doors, about nine feet tall.

John took a quick glance back at the audience of spirits. Instead of standing,
as they were before, they were kneeling, and — they were smiling!
Suddenly, the two massive sliding doors began to open. John quickly turned his
head to see what was coming up next. As the doors finished opening, from behind
them came a large spirit. John closed his eyes in order to visualize exactly
what it was. There was only one picture echoing in his mind: The Messiah! It
couldn't be! It was simply impossible — after all, everyone's allowed one
mistake!

But he had used that one mistake when he was born. Yes, indeed, this was
the Messiah!!! He opened his eyes to face the truth. Suddenly, the messiah
spoke. "John — you have done well."

"Huh?", asked John.

"As you may or may not have already guessed, this 'cube' is simply a test of
your mental power. I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"And?", he asked anxiously.

"Better than I expected."

"Say, you're dead, arent you?"

"That's right — this isn't my material body, just my — er —
soul, if you wish to call it that."

"For some strange reason, you seem more powerful that I remember you".

"That's because I am. When anyone passes on, he or she will gain a little more
mental power than what he or she had as a mortal. Even if they are not
'psychic' at all, they will gain a few minor psychic powers."

"Say, I've been meaning to ask you about these 'spirits' —"

"Say no more, for these are the 'souls' of my friends lost in the war."

"Just one more thing — about this cube —"

"Well, I had to draw your attention in some way, or else I wouldn't have
been able to test you! Besides, this is my tomb, and this is the last time ever
I will visit the solar system for a good million years. And now ... GOODBYE!!!"

Suddenly, the blinding light that John experienced while being transported
into the cube had returned, and John knew that he must restart his
imitation breathing. Suddenly, he realized that he was doing this
unconsciously — air was no longer a necessity, but simply a hindrance.

The light dimmed tremendously, and within a fraction of an instant was no more.
He looked around via his mind's eye, and found himself directly in front of a
rapidly flying giant cube, headed out toward the outermost reaches of the
universe.

John wasted no time in flying back to Earth to attempt to stop crime once and
for all. Once more, people could look up and say, "Look — up in the sky!
It's a bird; it's a plane; it's — it's a bird! Yecch!!!!!!!!!"

At the time I wrote this story, I desperately wanted to have psychic powers
of my own. For a long time, the two items I would always write on my Christmas
list or my birthday list, the two things I wanted most in the world, were "sex
and telekinesis." But something more significant happened in the summer
immediately before I wrote this: I met a young man named Jim, who at the time
was convinced that psychic powers were within reach of anyone who knew the
secret of how to make them happen. He was convinced he'd bent the top of a tall
pine tree by willing it to bend the previous night; and he told me a story of
how he'd stared at a fly on the wall for about 15 minutes willing it to die,
and then with a little quiver the fly did die. I desperately wanted his
tales to be true, because of how awesome it would be to have these powers
myself. (Like Targ and Puthoff, though, Jim also championed real-world physics
— a fact that would inspire me to write what I later learned was called
"hard science fiction", starting with The Pentagon
War.)

The oft-repeated notion that "people only use a small percentage of their
brains" turns out to be
a myth.

"European Mind Spa" was a reference to the Jack LaLanne European Health
Spas, a chain of gyms that was advertised repeatedly on TV at the time this
story was written. They were eventually all licensed to Bally Total
Fitness.

John's boss has the authority to promote John all the way from a
sub-minimum-wage position to President. I have to assume he was Mr. Spacely
from The Jetsons. How John was able to be so charismatic while holding
onto two aluminum handles that made his teeth chatter, I have no clue.

Despite the rather vague (and odd) description of John acquiring his first
girlfriend, I had actually kissed a girl before I wrote this story.
(Only a few months before, but still.)

"He wanted more zest out of life, and he didn't want to change to a new
cinnamon mouthwash" was a reference to TV ads for Listermint Cinnamon mouthwash
that were airing at the time this was written, which allegedly had a "fresh
zesty taste."

Although there is an actual movie named
Infra-Man, the
Inframan I had in mind here was
this guy, whom I invented in
my schoolyard playtime when I was 8 years old and whom I eventually wrote an
origin story for.

Seeing "abolishing the arabs" on the list today makes me quite ... uneasy.
It makes it sound like the popular sentiment at the time was that America
should commit outright genocide against the entire Middle East. And,
disturbingly enough, it was. Whereas today anti-arab sentiment is driven by
the popular assumption that all arabs are muslims, and that all muslims are
terrorists — neither of which are true — the anti-arab sentiment at
the time was driven by the fact that the OPEC nations had recently imposed a
petroleum embargo, which drove up domestic gasoline prices. There was even even
a country-and/or-western song on the Dr. Demento show at the time named "Let's
use the arabs to test the neutron bomb," which implied that we should wipe out
their population and take the oil for ourselves.

Apparently, at the time I thought we had the ability to track objects in
interplanetary space by sweeping the solar system with active radar. Real radio
astronomy can only detect the passive radio emissions of an object; at those
distances it can't hope to bounce a radar beam off anything and detect an
echo.

Surprisingly, when John deduces that the mysterious interplanetary object
he's searching for doesn't reflect visible light, he doesn't think of looking
for its thermal infrared emissions. Even the craftiest stealth technology can't
defeat the laws of thermodynamics. (Of course, the object could always be
cloaked by some spooky magical psychic powers, which in this story can
apparently do anything.)